


A Minute To Catch Your Breath

by raz0rgirl



Category: Law & Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-02
Updated: 2009-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:16:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raz0rgirl/pseuds/raz0rgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuous series of posteps for the Goren & Eames episodes of season 6 through "Brother's Keeper".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blind Spot

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote post-eps for most of the Goren &amp; Eames episodes of Season 6. I didn't finish ones for "Silencer", "Rocket Man" or "Endgame". I may still do one for "Endgame", but it's been years, so it's not likely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. “Blind Spot” post ep. With Bobby visiting Alex in the hospital. And Bobby being all angsty and introspective and stuff. Negative points for originality, I suppose. But, really. Who could resist? This is technically a missing scene. It takes place right before and during the final shot with Bobby sitting by Alex’s bed. I tend toward writing B/A partnership fics, but if you want to read shippiness into this, be my guest.

_Give yourself a minute  
to catch your breath  
Give yourself a minute  
figure out what next  
-from “Last Ride Together”  
by I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness_  


* * *

  
Bobby idly registered his surroundings through the haze of his colliding thoughts. The part of his mind that always sought out connections brought his attention to the memory of visiting Alex in this same hospital almost three years ago, right after her nephew had been born.

It was late, past visiting hours, and the hospital had slowed to the quieter rhythms of the night shift. He knew there was a chance that he wouldn’t be let into her room, but he had no intention of staying long. He just needed to see her—to make sure, again, that she was okay before he went home for the night. A shudder went through him as his thoughts touched for a countless time on how close he’d come to losing her.

When he slipped into her room, she was sleeping. He was thankful to see her face without anxiety or fear written on it, even if her peace was more likely due to sedatives or painkillers than her state of mind. He again took in the bandage on her head and the bruises on her wrists and fought back a wave of anger and nausea. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this off balance emotionally. Yes, there’d been blows. Bad ones. But he’d gotten to a point in his life where he expected attacks to come from the outside. Not from friends. Not from people he was supposed to be able to trust. And not like this. He was reeling, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

Bobby sat on a chair next to Alex’s bed. He realized that what he really wanted to do was talk things over with her. But he couldn’t. He refused to burden her with this—with his guilt and his shame—not after what she’d been through. How could he ask her to help him deal with his grief over Declan and Jo when she’d paid the price for their dysfunction—and his inability to see it.

He still couldn’t reconcile the Jo he’d taken on in the observation room with the teenager he’d met fifteen years before, and he didn’t know if he ever would. When he’d first met her, she was emerging from the gangly awkwardness that often came with adolescent growth spurts into a kind of willowy grace. She’d been so bright and delightful to talk with, but he’d expected that of Declan Gage’s daughter. What he’d never expected, what he should have seen, was that Declan, for all of the insight he had into human behavior, couldn’t see his daughter at all.

Bobby looked over at Alex, watching the even rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Eventually, his breathing matched hers, and he drew comfort from the rhythm. He wouldn’t burden her, but he would talk to her while she slept.

“I should have seen it, Eames,” he whispered, looking down at the floor as he talked. “I should have seen how he was. She was brilliant and beautiful and she adored him. And it wasn’t enough for him. It wasn’t ever going to be enough, because she wasn’t what he wanted. I know what that feels like, and I know what that means. And I should have fucking seen it.”

He paused and rubbed his face.

“My dad rode my brother like you wouldn’t believe. To this day, I don’t know which one of us had it worse. He expected so much of him, but Frank couldn’t ever meet those expectations. And I would watch that, and even though I could see how miserable Frank was, I would have given anything to have even some of that attention turned on me. I was desperate for it.

“I know a major part of my connection with Declan came from the attention he gave me. You don’t have be a profiler to understand that.” His laugh was bitter. “It was more than just approval, though. He helped me figure out my calling, and that’s no small gift. But I can’t stop thinking about what that must have been like for Jo—to watch him connect with me when he couldn’t be bothered with her. She said he was more of a father to me and the killers he studied than he was to her, and I can’t say she was wrong about that. For all his faults, Frank and I never had to watch our father give the approval he never gave us to someone else.”

He stood up and walked to the door to stare at nothing through the little window.

“He never talked about her while we were working on the case in Korea. I used to think it was just about not wanting to bring his home life into the job—a kind of healthy detachment. But now, thinking back to the times I visited him when I got back to the States—anything I learned about her I learned from her. He never really talked about her at all. And their home, Eames. There were no baby photos. No school pictures. No family portraits. Nothing. No images of anyone who wasn’t murdered or a murderer.

“When Ross was sure it was Dec, he said something about Jo being inured to the horror of what her father had done, and in a way, he was right. Somewhere along the line, all of the death and depravity he surrounded her with became normal to her. And what I want to know is when did that happen? When did she become a killer? We know when she physically killed for the first time, but when did she become capable of it? When did torture and murder become an acceptable means to an end? Because somehow, this amazing, gifted, caring young woman became someone who could sit across from you and pretend to grieve for the friend she killed and then turn around and abduct and plan to torture you. To…to kill you.”

Bobby sighed heavily and turned around to look at his sleeping partner. He blinked rapidly as he tried to keep in the tears that had been threatening to surface since he’d coaxed Jo into confessing.

“I’m so sorry, Alex. I’m sorry about what you went through…about what you’re going through.” The tears were finally falling, and he wiped angrily at his face. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Declan said I had to accept that you were dead, but I couldn’t accept that, not really. I could feel you. Even when everything said you should be gone, there was something inside me telling me you weren’t. And I’m sorry there was even a moment when I didn't listen to that voice.”

Alex shifted and moaned, and Bobby approached the foot of her bed. Her eyes opened slowly, and he noted the fear and disorientation that registered on her face before she remembered where she was.

She looked up at him. “Bobby?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, as he came around to the side of her bed.

“What time is it?” she asked, looking at the clock on the wall behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“I just…I just needed to see you.” He sat back in the chair, elbows on his knees, and leaned in towards her. “Are you in any pain? I can get the nurse.”

“You’re upset,” she said, ignoring his question. “Did you find him?”

“H-her. We found her.”

Alex frowned.

“It was Jo,” he said, looking down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “Jo Gage.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You were right about it being a copycat—just one with inside information. Jo copied Sebastian’s M.O., murdered those girls, to try to find a way to connect with her father. When that didn’t work, she decided to punish him by…by killing you…and setting things up to…to look like he did it.”

Alex sighed. “I have no idea what to say to that.”

“There really isn’t anything to say.”

They sat for a long moment with silence hanging between them. Bobby looked over to the window sill at the flowers and cards that were already starting to amass there, evidence of the support network he was so glad she had.

It occurred to him that he had no idea what he was going to say to her family. Sorry my crazy friends almost got your daughter, sister, aunt killed? He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You okay?” Alex asked, her voice pulling his gaze back to her.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “What matters is if you’re okay.”

“Bobby…”

“I’ll be okay when you’re on the other side of this.”

“I will be, you know. I’m going to get through this.”

He nodded, “I know you will.”

“You’re gonna get through this, too, Bobby.”

He looked at her through the blur of his returning tears, hoping desperately that she was right.  


* * *

  
A/N: Heaven help me, I have navel-gazing Bobby. I’ve quoted song lyrics. I’ve named a fic after song lyrics. What’s happening to me? I plan to continue this from Alex’s point of view after tomorrow’s episode. I want to see how the writers handle the aftermath of her abduction before I take it on. Who knows. Maybe this thing will go on for the whole season. 


	2. Siren Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Alex’s thoughts during the ride back to 1PP at the end of “Siren Call.” Again, I write B/A partnership, but if you want to infer ‘ship, I’m not averse. Just don’t expect any confessions of undying love nor any tumbling into bed for comfort sex (not that these two couldn’t use some. Geez Louise).

She watched Bobby as he stared out of the passenger side window. He hadn’t said a word since they’d gotten into the SUV, and she was worried about him. But then, worry seemed to be her default emotion towards him, lately.

They’d been in hairy situations before, but this had been one of the worst. She’d seen him talk his way out of a lot. Both of them had, and they had the records to prove it. In the whole of their careers, not one hostage had been lost between them. But when one of them was the hostage, what happened then? She’d left that room because they both knew that someone had to make sure Emily didn’t burst in on them, but it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She knew he needed to know that Emily was safe in order to do what he did best, but it was bad, and she’d wanted to be in there with him to back him up. She’d listened through the door and had heard the strain in his voice. She knew how close the situation had come to spiraling out of control, especially when he’d called out to send Emily in. He’d been trying to distract Wizneski after his attempts to connect with the man hadn’t worked. It rarely got to that point with Bobby. He could usually talk someone into putting down a weapon without his having to get physical.

Wizneski had wanted to kill Bobby, she had no doubt of that. Bobby had come to embody the anger and helplessness the cop had felt. The irony was that Bobby felt the same anger and helplessness, even if Wizneski had refused to see it.

And in spite of it all, she knew Bobby had still wanted the man to live. Not just to face up to his crimes, but also to get to the point where it didn’t seem like there were no other options and for the sake of the man’s wife and daughter. It had been devastating to watch Wizneski take his life, but the worst of it was when Emily had run outside only to see her father dead on the ground.

Emily. She was more like a little adult than a thirteen year old. She knew Bobby saw himself in her, but then he often saw himself in young people whose childhoods had ended too soon. She wondered if Bobby had been that way—so adult at so young an age. Probably. She sighed at the thought. He could be so boyish, but there was always an undercurrent of something else—a deep sorrow evocative of the burdens he bore. She saw less and less of the happier, playful side of her partner, and it concerned her.

She wished he’d talk to her. He had more in recent years than he had at the beginning of their partnership, but it had fallen off since her abduction—as if he didn’t want to bother her or felt he couldn’t. She knew he was devastated about Jo Gage, though he hadn’t talked about it with her. He had been so happy when he’d introduced Jo to her—so obviously proud of the woman.

Bobby had friends, but she could always tell who the most important people in his life were—who he connected with beyond shared interests or odd experiences in common. And as far as she could tell, there weren’t many such people. Of all the many things she was livid about in the fallout from her abduction, one of the biggest was her anger with Jo and Declan Gage for reducing that number. Few people ever won Bobby’s trust, and when that trust was betrayed, the effect rippled through all of his relationships, causing him to withdraw from everyone.

Alex thought about the attention focused on her. It was something she wouldn’t have liked during the best of times, and she had a hard time balancing her response to people’s concern. She was grateful for it, but she also needed her space. And she needed her life to go on. She was not opposed to therapy, but wished it were her choice rather than a departmental requirement. She’d worked with enough kidnapping victims to know that there was no way to avoid it having an effect. And as much as she hated the idea of labeling herself a victim in any way, she knew she had been affected. The nights when she woke from nightmares with the strangled cries Amanda had made after she’d lost the strength to scream still ringing in her ears were evidence of that. So she appreciated the help, even as she struggled with it.

But Bobby needed support, too, and he wasn’t going to get it without being made to get it. She knew her abduction had impacted him heavily. She’d managed to overhear enough whispered conversations about how bad it had been for him when she’d disappeared before people noticed her and stopped talking. And she didn’t need those conversations to know he was off balance. He likely needed mandated therapy more than she did. She was surrounded by a family full of civil servants and first responders who, even if they didn’t know exactly what she was going through, understood trauma. They understood the strain and the loss and the fury, and more often than not, she didn’t have to explain. He had almost no one.

At times, she wondered if the personal things he’d reveal during their investigations were as much about his needing to connect with someone as about anything else. That maybe it gave him a way to be vulnerable when he otherwise could not. She hurt to think of his mother only having months to live, not only because of what Frances Goren must be going through due to the ravages of her illness, but also because of what losing her would do to Bobby. She couldn’t stand the thought of him going through that alone, and she wondered how long it was that he’d been dealing with it.

She looked over at him again.

“You alright?” she asked, knowing he wasn’t.

He looked at her, but didn’t say anything before turning back to the window, and she didn’t like what she saw in his eyes.

She drove a few more blocks before saying, “You can talk to me if you need to, Bobby. It’s okay.”

Again, he didn’t say anything, but she knew he’d taken it in. She wouldn’t push him, but she would continue to check in with him. She’d give him the time and space he needed to process his emotions to the point where he could get a handle on what was going on inside him, but she wouldn’t let it go. She’d support him, whether he wanted her to or not.

He slouched down in the seat, curled into himself with his fist pressed into his mouth, and she was struck by how small such a large man could seem.

“I meant what I said about finishing the paperwork,” she said. “Go spend some time with your mother.”

She said it more like an order than a suggestion. In the corner of her eye, she saw him nod slightly, and she let out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding.


	3. Bedfellows

It was late, and the underground garage had fallen quiet. The contrast with the workday bustle of people constantly coming and going at One Police Plaza made it seem like a different place. Bobby stood in what had become the building's unofficial, technically illegal, indoor smoking area. Someone had even left out a coffee can for the butts, hoping that the brass would continue to look the other way. As long as the area stayed clean and the mayor didn’t come for a visit, they probably would. It was a popular spot, but at the moment, Bobby was alone.

He was taking advantage of the stillness to try to get his head straight. It wasn’t working. The events of the day kept swirling through his mind. It didn’t help that he kept finding himself looking toward the place where Eames’ car had been left and Amanda’s body had been found. The exact spot wasn’t visible, but that didn’t keep his thoughts from turning to the recurring dream he’d been having—the one in which he’d opened the trunk to find Eames’ brutalized body inside. He shook his head, willing the image away.

Bobby fished around in his pocket for a lighter, then lit the cigarette he’d been rolling between his fingers. He inhaled the smoke deeply, enjoying the temporary distraction the nicotine rush offered.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Alex said, as she walked toward him from the stairwell.

Bobby looked over at his partner. “No sale,” he said before taking another drag.

“I didn’t know you were smoking again.”

“I’m not. I bummed this from Parnell.” He paused, then added, “Long day.”

“We seem to be having a run of those, lately.”

Bobby let out an amused snort, but didn’t say anything.

“Let me have a drag,” Alex said, holding out her hand.

“Eames, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you smoke,” he said, though he didn’t hesitate to hand over the cigarette.

“I was a smoker in college,” she said, “and Joe smoked. I used to share his when I was really stressed out.”

She puffed and blew a perfect smoke ring, then handed the cigarette back to him.

“How did you know I was down here?” he asked after another pull.

“I ran into Parnell,” she answered with a sly smile.

Bobby laughed. “So much for trying to sneak anything in a building full of detectives.”

Alex moved to stand next to him. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “Today got to you.”

“How does a father lose two sons and mourn only one?”

“I don’t know, Bobby. I really don’t.” They fell quiet, and Bobby continued to smoke until Alex broke the silence. “Sometimes I wish it didn’t bother me so much. But maybe if it didn’t, it would be time to do something else.”

Bobby nodded and said, “I keep seeing Jeffrey standing there alone.”

“You have to let it go, Bobby,” she said.

“Will you?”

“Eventually. There’s no other choice.”

He shook his head slightly as he threw the cigarette butt into the makeshift ashtray.

“He’ll find his way,” she said. “You did.”

He looked at her, then down at the floor, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Sometimes I’m not so sure about that,” he finally said.

“I am,” she said as she stepped away from the wall and started toward the doors leading back to the building. “C’mon. Let’s pack up and get some dinner. We’re taking the stairs. We need the exercise.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?” Bobby asked with a grin in his voice.

She didn’t look back as she answered. “Anyone ever tell you that one about the pot and the kettle?”

“Ah, but my pots are stainless steel, not black,” he said as he moved to follow her. He didn’t have to see her face to know she was rolling her eyes.  


* * *

  
A/N: I smoked in college (and then some), but I never learned how to blow good smoke rings. I gave up smoking for good for my 30th birthday. The entire month of October pretty much tempted me to fall off the wagon, big time (yay, stress /sarcasm), and November’s not looking much better. I figure if I can’t bum a smoke, then Bobby &amp; Alex can do it for me. 


	4. Masquerade

“Why’d you go into law enforcement?”

Alex looked up from her paperwork. It was a question she’d been half expecting Bobby to ask since she’d first mentioned the year she went into the academy. The date was the kind of thing he’d have known already, but the way it had come up in the course of their investigation had pushed it into the air between them, introducing a kind of permission to ask that wouldn’t have otherwise existed.

“I tried my hand at other things,” she said, “but it’s in my blood, you know? It was time…just something I needed to do.”

Bobby nodded. “You need to protect people,” he said.

She was silent for a moment before she said, “So do you.” She didn’t say the rest of what came to her mind—that his need to protect was to try to set the world right, to make it make sense—because she knew that making sense wasn’t something the world was inclined to do. Instead, she said, “I wasn’t sure what to do after college. I thought about law school for a while, but nothing really clicked. I ended up doing advocacy work with women’s shelters while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do with my life.

“There was a woman, once, who came into one of the shelters I worked at. I’ll never forget her. She had been beaten so badly that one of her eyes was swollen shut, and both of her arms were broken. I helped her with some forms related to her medical care and talking with her, found out she’d been beaten by her pimp. He’d also beaten her son. Protective Services had taken custody of him, in the hospital, and she was trying to get visitation. She was so desperate to see him—to find out if he was okay.” Alex sighed. “He wasn’t. The boy died from his injuries before she was able to see him again.”

Bobby sat with his elbows on his desk, hands folded under his chin, as he gave Alex his full attention.

“I don’t know what happened to her. She left the shelter when she got the news and never came back. I’d seen and heard some horrible things doing that work, but something about that case changed things for me. I had this need to be a part of taking people like that pimp off the streets. It wouldn’t bring that woman’s son back, but it would keep him from hurting anyone else. I stopped fighting what I already knew—that I was meant to be a cop.”

“Is that why you did such a long stint in Vice?”

“Yeah. I know doing time in Vice is seen as the dues female cops have to pay, and in a lot of ways, it is. But it was something I wanted to do. These women are often preyed upon as girls and then used as teens and adults. Do you have any idea how many streetwalkers have a history of having been sexually abused? It’s staggering.”

Bobby nodded.

A corner of Alex's mouth turned up in a rueful grin. “Of course you know. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment.” She paused. “I knew I couldn’t stop it from happening, but if I could be a part of getting anyone out of that life, it was worth it. Sometimes Major Case feels a long way away from that. But on days like this… What Royce did—murdering Amberleigh and then capitalizing on that murder for years, not to mention selling out his own son—there are a lot of ways to exploit people.”

“That there are,” Bobby said, picking up his pen to continue working through the pile of forms.

They worked quietly for a while before Bobby said, “It was the right choice. You’re one of the best.”

Alex smiled.  


* * *

  
A/N: There was a discussion on one of the CI lists I follow about whether or not knowing the year Alex went into the academy (aren’t these little character details grand?) confirms Alex’s age. I don’t think it does. I think of Alex as being around Kathryn Erbe’s age, which means that Alex could have gone into the academy in her mid 20s. I like the idea of law enforcement being her second career. Her family is important to her, and I can definitely see her going into the family business, as it were. But her independence makes me think that maybe she tried something different first. Being a cop is Bobby’s second career, too, but going from the military into civilian law enforcement isn’t too great a leap (many military folks—like my dad, for instance—enter similar or related careers after retirement). I think there’s an interesting story in Alex’s choices. Maybe I’ll revisit it. Who knows? We’ll see what else the writers throw at us this year. 


	5. The War at Home

Bobby leaned against a wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, barely registering the feel of the rough brick against the back of his head and shoulders. He was tired. Tired of hospitals. Tired of having to fix everything. Tired of not being able to fix what mattered most.

Driving home was out of the question. Part of him doubted he even had the energy to call a cab and find a motel for the night, much less make it back to his apartment in one piece. He considered catching a nap in a waiting room, then decided against it. He needed to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a few hours. At least things were settled to the point where he could begin to think about getting some rest. His mother was comfortable for the time being. The anxiety would be back when she woke, but that was still several hours away.

He’d managed to schedule another appointment with the radiologist, and this time he would attend no matter what. He should have taken family leave time, he knew that now. But he hadn’t thought it would be necessary on the holiday, and he wanted to save all of the paid leave hours he could as a hedge against the possibility he would need extended time to help his mother if her condition worsened. He shook his head, pulling away from the direction his thoughts were heading, not ready to deal with that just yet.

Bobby pulled his phone out of his pocket then put it right back. Checking his messages felt like another obligation he just didn't have the energy left to deal with. Instead, he pushed off from the wall and headed back into the hospital to get a number for a taxi.

It was too late at night for anyone to be staffing the information desk, and Bobby wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with anyone face-to-face, anyway, so he started looking for a payphone. With any luck, there would be a phone book attached. He wandered the lobby for a bit, eventually finding one tucked away behind a pillar. He looked up a cab company and the address of a nearby motel, then pulled out his phone again. Flipping the phone open to make the call, he saw that he had a text message and a missed call with a voice mail message. He called for a pickup before taking a deep breath and opening the text message. He had to resist his impulse to throw the phone when he read yet another terse excuse from his brother for why he hadn’t been able to make it to the hospital.

The missed call was from Eames. He hit the speed dial for voice mail, clicking through the options until the tinny copy of her voice came through.

“Bobby…” she said, then hesitated. On another day, the combination of concern and exasperation she managed to express just saying his name might have made him smile. “Just call me.”

She’d been offering her support all weekend—covering for him and giving him openings to talk it out. He knew she was trying to help, and the part of him that wasn’t exhausted to the point of burnout appreciated it. But the idea of explaining… How did he tell a story that started decades before? That he never quite understood himself? And how could he accept her assistance if that meant slowing down? He knew that if he slowed down too much, he’d lose momentum and just stop. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to start again. And he had to keep going for his mother’s sake; she didn’t have anyone else. Bobby sometimes wondered if Eames, with her large, supportive family, could ever truly understand that.

He was grateful that she’d called, though. He knew he’d pushed her to the limits of her patience with his near insubordination. He’d been hard on the Deputy Commissioner, not the most politically expedient thing he’d ever done. But something about the man had bothered him from the beginning—his refusal to see the reality of his daughter's life while she’d lived and the way he had expected the world to come to a halt in respect for his grief over her death. Lashing out had been almost a compulsion. If it had only been about him, Bobby knew he wouldn’t be able to muster any regret for his actions, even allowing the possibility that it would negatively impact his career. But there was his partner to think about.

Bobby ran his hand through his hair, frustrated at the hypocrisy of his own level of self-involvement. Eames never pushed her status as senior detective on him; they worked as equals, as a team. The reality was that his behavior would reflect badly on her, and she didn’t deserve that. Just five months earlier, he’d been confronted with the possibility of losing her. It was the most helpless and out-of-control he could remember feeling in years, even in the face of everything else that had happened that year—the conspiracy against Deakins, Wiznesky’s suicide, his mother’s illness, this clusterfuck of a weekend. It would be foolish to push her away after all they’d been through.

He’d call her in the morning and begin to smooth things out between them. He’d do what he’d have to do to set things right. He’d find a way to fix it.  


* * *

  
A/N: This episode hit me hard. Honestly, with this show, half the time I’m not sure if I’m observing or projecting. My perspective on Bobby &amp; his behavior is a little different than most of the fan response I’ve seen. Bobby is his mother’s primary caregiver. He’s also most likely his mother’s legal guardian and her proxy when it comes to decisions about her medical treatment. When he wasn’t able to be with her at the hospital, it was about more than just wanting to support her or spend time with her. It had direct impact on her care, especially when she pretended to sleep through the visit from the specialist.

On a less serious note, can someone please get the writers a baby name book or something? Another Amanda? Doesn’t someone over at Wolf productions keep a database? Isn’t that what interns are for? Hell, I’d do it for some season 4 &amp; 5 bootleg DVDs.


	6. Privilege

Alex signed her last form and looked up at the clock. It was nearing midnight. There was no question that Alex loved her job, but she couldn’t deny that there were times when she wondered what it would be like to work normal hours. Not nine to five, necessarily. Just the same times each day, the same pre-set days of the week.

_It would probably bore me to tears_, she thought. Out loud, she said, “Quitting time,” as she stood up with her stack of paperwork.

Without looking up, Bobby held up his right hand, continuing to scribble with his left. “Give me a second, and I’ll head down with you.”

He was nearing the end of his pile, but she could see he still had a way to go. She swallowed a sigh and sat down, pulling a file from the stack on her desk to review an interview for the next morning's case. Ten minutes later, Bobby reached over to her desk, lifting her stack of forms and piling them with his own.

After Bobby turned in their paperwork, they walked to the elevator bank where Alex pressed the down button and waited.

“I like your hair like that,” Bobby said.

“Thanks,” Alex said, reaching up to touch one of the clips in her hair before hitting the down button a second time. “These were a gift from my nieces for my last birthday. I figured they’d get a kick out of me wearing them on a bust. The eldest has taken to calling me Auntie Badass when her parents aren’t around. It seems I have a reputation to live up to, now.”

Bobby smiled, and she was happy to see it.

“Something tells me that won’t be a problem,” he said.

It was nice to have a normal moment between them. There were more of them, lately, but the rhythm of their interactions was still off. Before, they might have taken advantage of the way they were dressed and headed out for a drink somewhere upscale. They’d each have ordered something top-shelf to savor and would have just talked for a while—taken the time to decompress and maybe go over the things that got to them about the case. But now, that didn’t seem like an option anymore.

As they rode down to the garage, Alex considered asking him anyway but thought better of it. They might have solved this case, but the next day would see a full day’s work. She was exhausted, and she could tell he was, too.

“I can drive you home,” she said as she moved to step off of the elevator.

Bobby followed her into the garage, but said, “No thanks. The walk to the subway will do me good.”

“It’s late.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He walked her to her car, which didn’t surprise her. It wasn’t an unusual thing for him to do, but since her abduction, she wasn’t always sure how to take his friendly gestures. He’d become more protective, though he was subtle about it. The part of her that hated the idea that he felt it was necessary—that saw his actions as calling her competence into question—was annoyed. Another part of her realized that it was as much about his peace of mind as anything else. She just wished he’d let her return the favor—that he wouldn’t brush aside the attempts she made to make sure he was okay.

She got into her car and rolled down the window.

“Good night, Bobby,” she said. “Be safe.”

“You too, Eames,” he said as he stepped back from her car to give her room to back out.

She watched him in her rearview mirror until she turned a corner and couldn’t see him anymore.

By the time she got home, her fatigue had settled heavy in every part of her. She did a quick safety check, room to room, doors and windows, before hanging up her coat, slipping off her shoes, and heading to the bedroom. She thought of her nieces as she took the clips out of her hair and decided to make a point of calling her brother to arrange to take the girls out for lunch on her next day off.

_I could go for a little anti-dysfunction, she said to herself before changing to get into bed._


	7. Albatross

Bobby breathed deeply, forcing himself to concentrate on the road stretching ahead of him in the diffuse glow of his headlights. As Eames was fond of pointing out, defensive driving wasn’t his forte during the best of times. The last thing anyone needed him to do was get himself into an accident. Normally, he’d listen to the radio or an audiobook on his trips to Lake Carmel and back, which provided enough to keep the restless part of his mind occupied so that the rest of him could deal with the task of driving. But lately, it was all he could do to focus enough to get through work and deal with his mother’s care, much less grant attention to much of anything outside of his thoughts on a trip he could do in his sleep.

His thoughts turned from the road to his partner. Of the countless conversations he’d had with her, three words in particular kept replaying in his head. He’d asked if things were okay between them, and she’d responded with a simple, “I hope so.” Alexandra Eames was not given to hedging. She said what was on her mind, and people knew where they stood with her. Which meant that where he stood was uncertain. That bothered him, but he took a measure of comfort in the small, wry smile she’d given him with the words. He knew he’d be in trouble if that smile ever went away for good.

To a degree, he could understand the hard time Eames had had with the case. The double standards Maureen Pagolis had faced in her career had not been fair, and he knew Eames identified with some of the woman’s struggles. Eames was, without question, the most competent police officer he knew, yet there were still people who would never see anything in her but their own biases and low expectations. He could see why Eames had admired Pagolis and why the issues around the case had made her angry. But he no longer had any patience for hero worship in any guise. The last year had seen to that.

And the fact of the matter was that fair or not, Maureen Pagolis had had options many other women did not. She’d made her choices, and now she was facing the consequences. Pagolis seemed like an ethical person. It was amazing to him how many otherwise steady people’s clarity left them when it came to their own lives. He frowned as he recalled the look on Eames’ face when they’d caught Pagolis out with her decision to say nothing to save her dear friend—a mixture of disappointment and resignation. Not jaded, but maybe closer to it than before. What was it Deakins had said? _When heroes fall, they take everyone down with them_. Even people they had no idea they were taking.

He’d wanted to tell Eames he was sorry that the case had turned out the way it did—that he understood her disappointment. But that somehow didn’t seem like the right response. He wasn’t sure what the right response was. He did know that he missed her—missed the ease they’d had in each other’s presence. It was still there, but harder to find, as if they had to work to keep it. The one thing he was certain of was that he would put in that work. He valued her too much not to.


	8. Brother's Keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on “The War at Home” had Bobby in limited contact with his brother (based on the bit in that ep. when Alex asks him if the text message he gets was from his brother), but we found out in “Brother’s Keeper” that he wasn’t in touch with his brother at all. I’m not going to change the previous chapters, but I’m going forward with the canon info as we get it.

In the aftermath, when she was driving away from One PP and he still wasn’t talking about it, she was just glad he’d agreed to go with her. After they’d left Rodgers’ office, he’d insisted on going back to Major Case to finish out the day. He’d brushed off Ross’ concern and hardly said anything as they completed the administrative tasks around their case.

When the time had come to leave, she’d insisted he let her drive him home. He’d curled into her sedan, the extra coat balled onto his lap. It was larger than her previous car, but still too small for his large frame to fit in with any real comfort. But she hadn’t liked the idea of him alone on the subway, lost in his thoughts. As she approached his apartment building, she realized she didn’t like the idea of him alone at all.

“Let’s get something to eat,” she said, her voice sounding loud in her ears after the silence of the ride.

“I’m not hungry, Eames.”

“Then let me buy you a drink. There’s that pub I like by your place.”

“Fine.”

It took a while to find a space to park, but she eventually found one about halfway between the pub and his building. In the bar they found a booth far enough toward the back to be away from the bustle of the early evening crowd.

The waitress stopped at the end of their table and gave them an expectant look.

Alex waited a beat, but Bobby stayed quiet. Her call, then – beer rather than something harder. “Got Newcastle on tap?"

"Sure. A pint?" The waitress made a note against her tray.

"Yeah, and a water,” Alex said.

Bobby said, “I’ll have the same, but skip the water.”

They sat, surrounded by the hum of the other patrons’ chatter, only breaking the silence after the drinks arrived.

“Talk to me, Bobby,” Alex said after watching him take a few sips of his beer.

Bobby sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “You knew I wouldn’t be good company tonight.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Bobby's only response was a look of flat challenge.

“I’m concerned about you, Bobby,” she said meeting his stare. “One day, you’re just going to have to accept that. And that I care about you.”

She watched him work his jaw and start to shift in his seat.

“Look, I don’t mean to push, or to make you uncomfortable. It’s just…”

“I was thinking about when Frank went to college,” he said, cutting her off.

He paused, taking a drink of his beer. Alex kept silent as she waited for him to continue.

“He ended up at Cal State. He actually got into Stanford, but we couldn’t come close to affording it. Even at a public school, and even with his scholarships, he went into debt to cover the out-of-state tuition. He could have stayed in New York for a lot less, but I think he wanted to get as far away as he could. Not just from the situation with Mom, but from everything. From all of us.

“I was fifteen, then. About a month after he left, my mom just…stopped. I don’t know how else to describe it. She sat in her room in a chair by the window, not really looking at anything. She’d hardly move from that spot. She wouldn’t eat or wash. I had to prod her to use the bathroom. She didn’t come out of it for days. At first, I was afraid to leave her alone, so I missed school—made up something about being sick. But then I was afraid if I missed too much, people would start asking questions. So I went to school and ran home every day at lunch until she finally came out of it.

“I didn’t call him. Didn’t call anybody. I didn’t want anyone to worry, and I wanted… I wanted to prove I could handle it, I guess. That I could take care of things as well as Frank could. When he came home for Christmas, I told him about it. He was sympathetic, but he’d distanced himself. Put up boundaries. That was the only break he ever came home for. We’d talk on the phone sometimes, and he’d ask about her, but he wouldn’t visit. He said it was money, and it probably was that, too. But I think he mostly just wanted a life of his own. After my dad left—since before that, really—he was the one who handled things. Kept everything together. I guess he just couldn’t do it anymore.

“God, I missed him.”

She watched him look at his hands, over at the bar, at the front door—anywhere but at her.

“Mom asked for him. All the time. She asks for him now. It was her birthday this weekend, and she wouldn’t open my gift because she was waiting for him to get there.” He took a drink from his glass. “She’s dying, Eames. She’s dying, and I almost had to tell her Frank was dead.”

He shook his head, then finished his beer and set the glass down with a heavy hand. She reached over the table to touch his arm. It was subtle. Anyone watching them wouldn’t have seen it, but she could feel him tense, ready to pull his arm away. She drew her hand back.

“Thanks for the drink, Eames. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stood up, and she knew there wouldn’t be any convincing him to stay.

“Okay, Bobby.”

She watched him leave, then looked down at her glass. She’d barely started her beer, but she had no desire to sit and finish it. She was glad he’d been able to say anything and hoped that it had helped him. Bobby so rarely talked about his personal life - almost never without something to distance himself, often speaking in ways that didn’t allow the discussion to turn back onto him.

Alex left her nearly-full glass next to Bobby's empty one and walked back to her car. The bundled coat Goren had given his brother was still sitting on the passenger seat. She started the car and thought about taking the coat up to his apartment, but discarded the idea. It was clear he needed some time alone, and she didn’t know if he’d forgotten it or purposefully left it behind.

During her drive home, she catalogued what she knew about him, the buzz of her thoughts overriding the radio. She wondered, not for the first time, what he was like as a child—what it was like for him to try to hold everything together for everyone, a pattern that hadn’t left him in adulthood. He still nurtured everyone but himself. As she replayed the things he’d told her in the bar, she registered that he’d never described his mother as dying up until that point. It was always that she was a fighter—he hadn’t had room for her not surviving her illness until then.

When she arrived home, she took the coat with her when she got out of the car. After her security check, she pulled a hanger out of her bedroom closet to hang it up. The coat was elegant - well made and well suited to its purpose. Everything about it, including how easily he’d given it away, spoke of Bobby—except for the musty smell it now held. She put the coat on the side of the closet where she kept her clothes in need of dry cleaning. She’d have the coat cleaned and hold onto it until some of the rawness of the week had passed. If he wanted it, he’d let her know.

She left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen where she sat at the table with her cell phone, looking at it for a while before pressing the speed dial. The line connected, and she smiled at the sound of her sister’s voice.

“Hey, Alex.”

“Hey.”

“What’s wrong? You sound upset.”

“Nothing, really…long day.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just the end of a complicated case.”

“The one on the news? With the preacher?”

“That’s the one. But I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

She felt the day’s tension leave her body as they talked at length about nothing in particular. She wanted to ignore it when her phone beeped to indicate another call, but clicked over when she saw it was Goren.

“Hi, Bobby,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Eames.”

“My sister’s on the other line. Let me tell her I’ll call her back.”

“No, don’t. I just wanted to…check that you got home all right.”

“I did.” She wanted to talk —to tell him that she’d seen what happened when it became too much for him—but settled on a simple, “Take care of yourself, Bobby.”

“Goodnight, Eames,” he said before hanging up.

“Alex, are you sure everything’s okay?” her sister asked after Alex clicked back over to her line.

She sighed, fighting the urge to go through the events of the day with her sister.

“It is, I promise” she said, almost laughing when the thought that she missed therapy, if only for the opportunity to talk with marked rules and boundaries in place, popped into her head. “You were telling me about the day care you found.”

“Yeah. It’s a Montessori program that we can actually afford. But it was still hard to make the final decision. I swear, I wanted to have you run a background check on everyone.”

She knew her sister wasn’t convinced, but was grateful she was willing to let it go.

“Background checks could be arranged,” Alex said, only half kidding.

Her sister laughed. “We’ll just make sure they know how many of his relatives are NYPD.”

“Sounds like a plan.”


End file.
